


Something Special

by NotPersephone



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Christmas Fluff, F/M, Secret Santa gifts, Therapy Years
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-28
Updated: 2018-12-28
Packaged: 2019-09-29 08:27:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17200043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotPersephone/pseuds/NotPersephone
Summary: "I am glad to see you enjoying the season, Hannibal,” she says instead, making unnecessary adjustments to the already even placement of her notebook.“I wish you could enjoy it as well, Doctor,” he returns, and a wistful note hangs in the air between them. “But I hope you will be joining us at the psychiatric society’s annual holiday gala,” he adds, almost offhandedly, but she can see his eyes burning with excitement.





	Something Special

It is the season to be merry, so they say, and her patient has certainly embraced the upcoming holiday spirit.

Bedelia’s head tilts to the side as she listens to Hannibal’s detailed plans for his next dinner, holiday themed, of course, the feast worthy of any royal table. Her eyes sweep his immaculate appearance; the red tie topping his navy suit is no doubt a fortunate coincidence, but it is strangely befitting his demeanour.

Her face betrays no emotions as she focuses on his words, now going into details of each course, and tries not to flinch, half expecting him to offer her another invitation. But, surprisingly, he does not, which puzzles her even more. He has never divulged the specifics of his elaborate parties without having an agenda. She wonders what has influenced his more than usual cheerful disposition.

“I am sorry to have spent so much time talking about the dinner,” he concludes his account.

“It is your hour, Hannibal,” she says coolly, placing her notes aside, a gentle indication that their time is coming to an end, “You can utilise it whichever way you wish to.”

A sly smile appears on his lips and she immediately regrets that particular turn of phrase. She is more than aware of what he would _most_ like to do with this time.

“I am glad to see you enjoying the season, Hannibal,” she says instead, making unnecessary adjustments to the already even placement of her notebook.

“I wish you could enjoy it as well, Doctor,” he returns, and a wistful note hangs in the air between them. “But I hope you will be joining us at the psychiatric society’s annual holiday gala,” he adds, almost offhandedly, but she can see his eyes burning with excitement.

It takes all of Bedelia’s self-control not to show her surprise at his comment, opting for her usual mask of composure and pointed silence.

“I apologise if I am too forward,” Hannibal continues as she remains uncommunicative, “I couldn’t help but notice the invitation on your hallway table.”

Bedelia arches an eyebrow; she takes a mental note to find a new spot for her post.

“Yes, I am contemplating it,” she responds, “It is for a good cause.”

“It is,” he smiles cheerfully, and she knows it is not because of his fondness for helping the less fortunate.

The annual event is an elaborate Christmas party masquerading as a charity event. The money donations are just an excuse for the tipsy participants to enjoy the fun of Secret Santa. Bedelia avoided it in the past, but the current chairwoman of the society has been quite insisting, hoping to surpass last year’s donations. Or rather make the society pages.

“It will be wonderful to have you join in on the festivities,” Hannibal presses on, not longer caring to hide his enthusiasm.

“I am glad you’re still looking forward to the event after the unfortunate gift of socks Doctor Chilton had for you last year,” she says smoothly, leaping at the opportunity to restore her upper hand.

She watches with apparent pleasure as Hannibal’s expression turns startled at her unanticipated knowledge. Apart from being insisting, the chairwoman was quite a gossiper too.

“The joy is in the game,” he states simply, waving the revelation away, his intense stare once again focusing on her.

This time Bedelia smiles too, her skin and mind tingling at the notion; she can always expect pleasure in a game with Hannibal Lecter.

 

“Oh, you did not have to come personally,” the woman takes Bedelia’s hand and squeezes it eagerly, a practised smile on her face, “You could have just sent the cheque.” The manicured fingers now reach for the envelope in Bedelia’s hand, red talons snatching its prey before it escapes.

“It is no trouble. I was in the neighbourhood,” Bedelia says, watching as the woman puts the envelope aside, tossing her perfect black locks in the process, a gesture, Bedelia suspects, she uses a lot.

“But since you’re here,” a new glimmer appears in the chairwoman’s eyes as she walks behind the reception’s desk to retrieve an ornamented box with a bow on its side, “Pick a name.”

Bedelia swallows a sigh; she would rather not participate in this silly tradition, it seems more fitting for children than professional adults, but alas, she has accepted the invitation and all that it encompasses. Hesitantly, she reaches her hand out when an all too familiar voice sounds behind her.

“Doctor Du Maurier, you have decided to join us after all,” Hannibal appears by their side, his smiling face flushed from the cold, a faint dust of snow on the lapel of his coat.

But of course, he would appear at this exact moment as if by magical timing; Bedelia no longer considers the rules of coincidence when it comes to her patient.

“Hello Hannibal. Yes, I have,” she says simply, ignoring his good humour.

“Make sure she gets a right person, Nina,” Hannibal now turns to the chairwoman who visible blushes at his attention.

“It is called a Secret Santa for a reason, Hannibal,” the woman chirps back at him, “Although we are dying to know who will have the honour of your impeccable taste this year,” she leans forward, briefly resting her hand on his arm before pulling it back with a jolt, clearly amazed by her own boldness.

“You will have to wait and see then,” he offers her a cheeky smile and the woman blushes even more.

Bedelia observes the exchange curiously; she might assist Hannibal in maintaining his person suit, but she has never actually seen its full effect and glamour. It is truly fascinating to watch. And, for some reason, she also finds herself suddenly irritated.

Her hand extends again, interrupting the conversation and startling Nina as if she only now remembered about her other caller. The chairwoman offers Bedelia the box and she quickly picks out a piece of paper without giving it much regard. Hannibal’s burning eyes remain on her throughout the entire scene. She is about to put the paper in her handbag when he speaks unexpectedly.

“It is better if you check the name first.”

She gives him a harsh look but the chairwoman nods in agreement. Her patience wearing thin, she unfolds the note in a brusque manner. She is not even surprised when the name appears before her eyes.

_Hannibal Lecter_

Another sigh threatens to escape her lips, bur her expression remains unchanged as she hides the slip of paper in her bag, her gaze unfaltering as it meets his.

“I will see you at the party,” she bids them both goodbye. She is out the door before Hannibal has a chance to utter another smart remark.

As she walks towards her car, she gives free reign to her annoyance, ignoring the tiny speck of excitement igniting in her mind. The game is astir.

 

The day of the party arrives as unexpectedly as the first frost of the winter; the holiday season makes the time go fast and slow all at once. The dusk falls earlier now and the sky bruises purple by the time Bedelia finishes her bath and is ready to get dressed for the evening.

Her gown of choice is black with tiny patterns of silver, rather subdued in hues; Bedelia does not want to opt for the _obvious_ holiday colours. But it did not stop her from placing a red velvet ribbon on top of her present; she smooths its edges now, pleased with the appearance of the small box. As much as she tried to deny it, she enjoyed obtaining this gift. And she secretly hopes the recipient will like it as well, no matter how silly the concern might seem.

She slips on the dress, shimmering playfully around her figure, like a starry night enfolding her body. She keeps her hair loose, locks resting softly on her exposed back. The finishing touch of the lipstick seals her look and she smiles at her reflection, pleased with her appearance. The colour of lipstick matches the ribbon.

She arrives to find the grand hall of the psychiatric society already bustling with noise and lights. The simplicity of Greek revival is overshadowed by abundance of decorations, streams of red and gold glistening with exuberance. The concierge takes her coat and her gift and is immediately followed by a waiter with a tray full of champagne. Bedelia takes a glass and ventures into the brilliance, suddenly surrounded by garble of voices and clinking of crystal. Her eyes survey the gathered crowd, looking but not really seeing, instinctively searching for one person, almost despite herself. She finds him at once, standing taller than most guests, looking as striking as ever in his black and white tuxedo. It is strangely tamed for his tastes but just as effective, making it hard for her not to stare too fiercely.

Hannibal notices her as well, his fervent gaze burning on her skin even from across the room. He raises his glass and nods in acknowledgement but does not leave his spot. How curious, Bedelia was certain he would seize this chance to engage with her outside their therapy hour. And _disappointing_ , another musing slips through, but she does not allow herself to let it settle in her mind.

Instead, she mingles with the other guests, familiar faces of colleagues greeting her with high spirits, shining eyes indicating their enjoyment of the season and the continuous flow of alcohol. Anecdotes she has heard on numerous occasions are now repeated with fresh, liquor induced enthusiasm while gossips are conveyed in hushed tones and stolen glances. Bedelia smiles politely as she steers from one cluster of people to another as if searching for the right island in the sea of mundanity. A terrible rendition of “White Christmas” echoes above her head, settling in a pulse on her temples, a tale tell sign on an impending headache. She empties her glass and sets it on a small table. Holiday season’s merriment is definitely not for everyone.

She does not know how much time has passed, but the party turns increasingly tipsy and louder in the process, the jolly mood taking over in full by the time the chime of a fork on a glass draws everyone’s attention. It takes a moment before the chatter dies out enough for the words to be heard.

“Thank you for coming everyone. And for you generous donations. After all, nothing says holidays like sharing,” the chairwoman exclaims, standing by the large fireplace overhung with tinsel, the plum hue of her dress matching the flushed colour of her cheeks. The words are marked with a decisive wink of her eye.

As if by a secret signal, all eyes turn to the highly decorated tree that has taken over the corner of the room, now with the added glitz of the various gifts settled underneath it. A hum of excitement passes through the room, soon followed by numerous giggles; the prospect of presents suddenly turns a room full of serious adults into eager children. Few guests rush to assist the chairwoman, like elves in white shirts and black ties, taking turns in removing the boxes from their spot and finding its recipient. As much as she faints disinterest, Bedelia cannot help but glance in Hannibal’s direction, wanting to see his reaction to the gift. In her distraction, she fails to notice the chairwoman stopping in front of her.

“For you, Doctor Du Maurier. Happy Christmas,” she says with a mysterious flicker in her eyes as though she knew something about the gift that Bedelia didn’t.

Bedelia takes the box from her extended hands; an elegant black square decorated with a golden bow and tiny black antlers entwined together. She can feel the fizz of anticipation around her as she opens the box. Her eyes fall on a crystal bottle with a silver top and a matching crystal stopper nestled among black velvet.

“It’s a perfume,” a woman on her right states the obvious.

But it is not any perfume that Bedelia is familiar with. She lifts the bottle, searching for any writing or label, but finds none. Finally, she uncorks it and a fresh aroma of red currants and orange blossoms infuses the air around her. Bedelia inhales deeply, enjoying the unforeseen freshness, cutting sharply through the fusion of scents in the room. She wonders if the guests standing around her have noticed it as well, but she suspects it was meant for her nose only.

A bespoke perfume.

There is only one person she knows who would go to such lengths. Her gaze lifts and once again rests on the man on the other side of the room. She expects his eyes to meet hers, but instead he is occupied with his own gift. Her eyes sharpen, her gift momentarily forgotten as she watches him unwrap his.

Even from the distance she can see the gleam of silver in a box, a pair of cufflinks. She can see him studying the offering and his eyes widen when he sees the engravings. He takes them out of the box to inspect them closer; each cufflink is adorned with a motif of a snake, flanked by lions on both sides and two ravens at the top. The Lecter family crest. A fleeting expression she cannot quite interpret passes over his face, but before she gets the chance to examine it closer, her view is obstructed by wandering guests.

The chatter returns afresh with the added elation, as the guests compare gifts and not so secret donors. The noise is suddenly overpowering to Bedelia and she retreats to the adjacent corridor. She stands by the window overlooking the main street, now empty and still, with snow falling slowly, a calming contradiction to the celebrations taking place inside.

Her eyes fall on the bottle of perfume in her hand; the fresh scent still lingers in her nostrils. It reminds her of a summer evening when the heat of the day gives way to a cooling breeze, bringing out the aromas of the foliage. It is her favourite time.

“Thank you for the gift, Hannibal.”

His steps are soundless, and he appears as if out of thin air behind her.

“And thank you for yours, Doctor Du Maurier.”

Bedelia turns to see him proudly displaying the new cufflinks on his shirt, finger tracing the crest almost absentmindedly.

“I wasn’t certain if you would like it,” she responds, “I understand reminders of your past can be difficult at times.”

She knows his sentiments regarding his family are complicated to say the least.

“I have not seen this in decades,” his tone suddenly brims with emotions, “I forgot how beautiful it was. Thank you,” he clears his throat, shaking off the tremble in his voice. “You did some research,” he adds with the gleam returning to his eyes.

Bedelia smiles shyly; she knows how much it means to Hannibal that she has taken interest in him beyond their therapy hours.

“Well, you went to the trouble of staging the right draw, I wanted to get you something special.”

Hannibal’s head tilts in genuine surprise.

“I had nothing to do with your draw,” he says with all seriousness, “It was meant to be, I guess.” A wide smile tells her he is very much enjoying this stroke of fate.

Bedelia’s eyes scrutinise his words, not yet convinced of its truth.

“However, I do have to admit-” he hesitates, seeing her judging stare, “I made sure to get your name.”

Bedelia smiles, not taken aback at all.

“It is a remarkable present. But if you did not like my perfume, you should have said something,” she teases him.

“No, of course not,” he says at once, “All the perfumes tend to be generic, and they did not complement your natural scent the way they should. I apologise if it is too intimate, but-” he pauses as though gathering his nerves. “You are one of a kind, Bedelia and so should be your fragrance.”

The scent of the perfume shifts to the sweetness of late blooming jasmine and sandalwood, warming the air and her in turn.

“Well, I think you missed your calling, Hannibal,” she attempts to free herself from the dreamy sensation and regain her usual professional manner.

“No, I don’t believe so,” he says with unnecessary modesty and lowers his gaze in unforeseen shyness. It makes him look strangely endearing.

“No one else’s scent has ever stayed with me the way your does,” he utters quietly and raises his head to look at her again.

Bedelia feels her skin burning afresh. She steps closer, her hand reaching out to touch his cheek. He looks startled, his eyes growing wider at once, as if this were the Christmas miracle he had never dared to hope for. She leans forward, uncaring for any prying eyes, and presses a kiss on his lips, warm and soft to her touch. She can hear his breath catch with a start as he takes his taste of her, his thumb gently stroking her cheek.

“I did not notice any mistletoe, Bedelia,” he remarks as they lips part, but his other hand moves to rest on the small of her back, keeping her in his embrace.

“I am certain you could make one appear if I turned my back,” she ripostes, and it makes him chuckle, the low sound reverberating pleasantly through her skin, “Merry Christmas, Hannibal,” she whispers softly against his mouth and kisses him again, slowly and deeply.

The caress locks them in a private bubble, the party reduced to nothing more than a distant memory. The true gift of the season is the spark kindling in their hearts.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Feedback is love.  
> Any prompts or random outbursts of fangirling, you know where to find me.


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